Darius Chapter 19

When the sun finally set and Erinstone was lit only by the torches and braziers lining the streets, Darius and Bart were let out of the Forge. The two Red Plumes walked them down the corridors, stopping at each of their rooms. After Darius went inside, the door was slammed behind him and locked. He heard Bart receive the same treatment over at his cell.

Silfor had played them like a fiddle. When they’d first met, she had seemed genial and kind, but now that her claws were out and firmly embedded in Darius’s back, he saw what he’d gotten himself into. It was clear that she had plans for these weapons outside of just ‘general defense’ of Erinstone – he thought back to the conversation he’d overheard between Silfor and Mitrev, where she had mentioned abandoning her marriage to Marth since the alliance might no longer be needed.

If Marth was still in Erinstone, he would be in great danger. Darius remembered what Silfor had said about being put in the room next to Marth – if he could talk to him, and explain what was happening...

He crept out of bed and looked out the small hole at the top of his door. He didn’t have a great view, but he could see if anyone went past or was waiting outside. He called out in a loud whisper.

“Marth! Hey, you there? Grenfell?”

No response. Grenfell must’ve left Marth’s room at some point between seeing him earlier and being let out of the Forge.

So they were in a predicament, that was clear. For all Darius knew, it might not have even been him and Bart that produced the magic in that axe - the ancient weapon might’ve just always been that way, a lucky strike bringing it back to life. But that seemed unlikely. When he had shouted ‘Eshen!’ and struck the axe, he had felt something coursing through him, something more than just the frustration of butchering the engraving. But reproducing that feeling had been impossible so far - he’d have to work on it in the Forge tomorrow.

That was another issue - was it even wise for him to try? It sounded like Silfor had war with Barringvale on her mind, which was not something Darius wanted to support. He had to face it though - if he was worried about his creations killing people, being a blacksmith probably wasn’t the correct career path for him. If Silfor wanted war, she’d get it, magical army or not.

He returned to his bed and fell asleep with that on his mind, dreaming of a large-scale clash between Erinstone and Barringvale - the two powers of the Continent. He stood in the middle as the forces clashed, but as they came together, he floated above them, holding the ancient axe across his body. He saw Erinstone soldiers surrounding Marth, their spears searching for chinks in his defense. He saw Silfor’s Red Plumes carving through the Barringvale flank before they in turn were crushed by a rampaging beast released upon them. The dream became wilder and more fantastical until his vision was blurred by a bright palette of colors and he awoke in a sweat.

He felt like he’d only slept for five minutes, but already the sunlight threatened to creep into his room, calling the Red Plumes to take him to work. Soon enough, he heard Bart being dragged out of bed, the sound of his tired protests bouncing through the halls. The servants didn’t seem concerned, continuing to go about their daily tasks.

Darius still hadn’t heard any movement from Marth’s room, and Grenfell didn’t return in the night. The Red Plume that Silfor called Pyuter unlocked Darius’s door and escorted him out, shoving him ahead so the two guards could follow behind. When they got to the Forge, a servant was waiting inside.

“Good morning, Darius, Bart. Silfor has asked me to assist you with anything you may need for your research. Can I help you with anything?”

Darius hesitated a moment but seeing the Red Plumes with their hands on their swords, he knew he had to commit to at least trying – his and Bart’s lives depended on it.

“Sure, can you please go to the Trader’s District and ask around for any old weapons? There’s an old man selling watermelons that you should ask in particular. I’ll also need you to head to the Royal Forge and grab all the casts you can carry, a few for the blade of each style of weapon, plus an arrowhead cast. Sound good?”

The servant scrawled the orders down on a sheet of parchment and hurried off to do his bidding. Once again, they were stuck playing the waiting game, unable to start work until they had their materials. Darius and Bart tried to fill the time by preparing the forge as best they could. When they had opened the room the day before, Darius had noticed a pile of something wrapped up on the eastern wall, covered by a heavy piece of canvas. Knowing what was under it, he told the cleaners to leave it as it was.

He approached the pile now, eager to reveal its treasure. Finding the corners of the canvas, he yanked them out from their resting place and lifted the cover, folding it back on itself. It squelched as he lifted it, and the smell it released was rancid. Before him lay a stack of iron and copper bars, covered in thick globules of animal fat to stop them rusting. Unfortunately, the fat had well and truly made it past its useful life, and now reeked like a terrible concoction of death, vomit, off-meat and armpits. Darius rushed to the window, coughing and retching. He threw them open and thrust his head out, taking deep gulps of the sea air. Once released, the smell dissipated into the larger space – including the castle corridors. Bart cackled as he heard the Red Plumes gagging, the stink filling their sweaty helmets and armor.

“Serves them right, hopefully they choke on it.” he mumbled into the shirt he had over his mouth.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Darius continued hanging out the window until he was sure the stench had gone away. He began to unsnag himself from the windowsill when something on the cliff caught his eye – a flash of red like he’d seen when he was entering the castle after the stampede. He heaved himself back out, trying for a better view. He caught sight of it again, what looked like a flurry of crimson limbs retreating into the rock face. Again, he hadn’t been able to identify it. He watched for another fifteen minutes, but he had no luck.

Not long after he gave up the hunt, the servant came back. The poor man was sweating buckets and carting along a trolley of weapons, casts, and other bits and pieces he’d thought might be useful to Darius.

“Sir, I’ve brought the –”

He stopped speaking and held up his hand, signaling ‘one moment please – my lungs are about to explode’.

Once he undoubled himself, he pulled the trolley into the room, bumping it along the stone bricks. The servant plonked it in the center of the Forge, letting Bart and Darius take their pick. He screwed up his nose at a strange smell. He hoped it wasn’t him.

Darius picked through the trolley, trying to garner some inspiration for his work. He eventually settled on a dagger, deciding that it would be best to conserve materials. Bart grabbed a bar of iron and placed it in a crucible, nestling the container in the forge. They hadn’t expected the servant to be back so soon, so the forge had to be lit, Bart pumping the bellows and Darius watching the spectacle. The warmth started to spread through the room, seeping into the old stones that had been cold for years. Before long, the iron bar started to sag and turn to a gluggy liquid. On Bart’s first day as Darius’s apprentice, he had taken the crucible out before the metal had fully melted, pouring it into Darius’s waiting cast. Darius didn’t notice until he watched the metal not melt in front of him. The more experienced apprentices gave Bart so much shit that Darius gave him the afternoon off.

Needless to say, that mistake was never made again.

When the iron was hot enough, Bart grabbed a pair of two-handed tongs, and pried the crucible out from the red-hot forge. The molten iron looked no different in color to the coals around it, a glowing waterfall of bright orange and red as Bart poured it into a dagger mold. Darius allowed the metal to cool until he felt it was workable – determined by a mix of intuition and observation – and then broke the dagger blade out of the clay cast. From there, he worked the blade into a more ideal shape than the blunt shape of the cast, drawing and upsetting the metal until it was ready. When he was satisfied, he summoned all his strength, raised his hammer above his head, and yelled.

“Eshen!”

His hammer arced down, smashing into the warm dagger.

Nothing.

The Red Plumes broke through the door, ready to see the spectacle. They were disappointed to see Darius peering at a flattened, useless dagger. The strength he put into the final blow utterly ruined the piece. The Red Plumes looked at each other, and although Darius couldn’t see their whole faces through their visors, he knew they were smiling. They stepped further into the room.

“Well, lads, a good first try! Looks like you need something else though. A bit of an incentive...”

Quaren unclipped his scabbard and wielded it like a bat, hitting Bart in the stomach with the hard leather. He hit the deck, rolling on the stone bricks while he cradled his damaged body. Darius stepped forward to protect him.

“HEY! You think that’s going to fucking help? You dimwit!”

Quaren turned on him, Pyuter standing back to watch the show.

“What did you call me? Huh? You want some of what he got?”

He tried the same move on Darius, swinging the scabbard in a wide arc, rotating his hips to gather more power. Darius took the brunt of the belting on his left side, then hooked his arm down to lock in the weapon. He still had his hammer in his right hand.

“ESHEN!”

He stepped into range, hurtling his hammer into the guard’s chest plate.

Blue light filled the room, and the shockwave from the blast shook dust from the ceiling. The sound was like being kicked in the ear by a horse. Quaren’s insides were obliterated – a hole the size of a fist punched through the back of his armor, and a vile mass of skin, muscle and flesh oozed out from him. He stood for a couple seconds, then crumpled.

Pyuter screamed and sprinted down the hall, not wishing to avenge his comrade – he had developed a distinct fear of being turned to ooze.

Darius helped Bart to his feet, and then returned to the remaining limbs of the fallen Red Plume. The chest plate he had struck was completely unaltered by the crushing blow, and the telltale blue glow emanated from it. There were no ascending trails of light this time, but he knew he had created another magical item. He heard the hurried steps of Lady Silfor approaching, accompanied by a group of heavier boots. They stopped a few meters from the King’s Forge. He heard Silfor speak, the excitement clear in her voice.

“Darius? Darling? I need you to come out here please. Come out slowly and leave your hammer in there. I’ve got five men with bows here that will shoot you if you try anything, okay? We don’t want that.”

Darius placed his hammer on the workstation next to the flattened dagger, and stepped over Quaren’s mess, making his way out the door with his hands up. Five longbows were pointed at him, fully drawn.

“Your guard tried to kill Bart.”

Silfor smiled and laughed like Darius was a stumbling puppy.

“Oh, Darius you’re not in trouble! I don’t care about Quaren, he wasn’t a very talkative fellow – what’s the point in having guards if you don’t get to chat to them? No, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to try any funny business when I came in. Men, lower your aim, this man is a treasure of Erinstone.”

The archers did as they were commanded, keeping a wary eye on Darius and Bart, who was peeking his pale face out the door.

Silfor strode in, covering the lower half of her face with a lily-white cloth when she saw Quaren.

“Okay, so, I heard the bang. What have you created?”

Darius leaned down and unclipped the armor, pulling away the top chest plate and throwing it into the quenching basin to clean off Quaren’s remnants. He scrubbed it for a moment then pulled it out, handing it to Silfor.

“I’m not sure what it does yet, but it took a pretty heavy hit from my hammer, and there’s no dint at all. It could be impenetrable?”

Silfor walked to the west wall and stood the chest plate up against it. Standing back, she grabbed one of the clay molds the servant had brought. She tossed it at the chest plate, and when it hit, the mold ricocheted off into a thousand pieces, spraying out and peppering the three observers with pieces of hard clay. It travelled fast enough to sting.

Darius blanched.

“Ah, that’s what it does.”